


A Taste

by gxlden



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Mild Blood, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/pseuds/gxlden
Summary: Sebastian derives no energy from human food, but human souls are a different story. Perhaps the young master will be so kind as to give him a taste of his...





	A Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the most recent BoA side story. Aimless porn with minimal editing

Even though the porridge is horrendously sweet, Ciel watches Sebastian eat every bite on his plate, knowing how much the creature hates waste. He eats slowly, though, as if he really does not want to be eating it, and Ciel laughs to himself, enjoying the pitiful sight of his butler propped up in bed with a bonnet on his head. 

With the last spot of rice cleared from the bowl, Ciel clears his throat to speak. 

“You have said before that you can taste my soul…” he begins casually. “Taste the flavor, so to speak, whenever you…. When you taste my saliva or blood, or my… other stuff.” 

“Your semen,” Sebastian says, “yes.” It is so endearing to see his young master stutter over these words. When he is desperate, mad with pleasure and lust, the young earl has no shame; he spews salacious statements and pleas from that filthy mouth, begging and demanding for Sebastian to touch him here, now there; to go deeper, to go faster; to ravage him and consume him and fill him, marking him as his, again, this time from the inside.

“Yes, that,” Ciel asserts. He takes he tray from Sebastian and carries it to the desk, wondering to himself what happens to the food that Sebastian consumes -- would it turn to dust in his intestines, or remain unchanged in his stomach for all eternity, a mottled mess of rice porridge and black tea lost to the ages? He should think to ask Sebastian next time he gets the chance. From the top drawer, he surreptitiously withdraws a sharp kitchen knife which he had squirreled away from the kitchen and stashed there when he brought down the meal. 

“Young master, what are you doing with something like that?”

“Hush.” Ciel steps closer to the bed, looking at the chair he had been sitting in, and then takes a seat on the edge of the mattress by Sebastian’s thighs. Intrigued, Sebastian watches Ciel turn the knife in his hands, and then swiftly drag the tip of the blade across his fingertip. Not only does he see the pain in Ciel’s face, Sebastian feels it, an alarm ringing on the back of his hand. Instinctively, he reaches for his young master, carefully pulling the knife from his grasp and setting it aside. He takes the wounded fist in his hands, inspecting the gash on Ciel’s imperious little finger. The earl does not shy away. There is a soft resolve on his face, and Sebastian squeezes the finger in between his own, watching as a smooth ruby of blood beads up, rich and red, and then slides down the length of Ciel’s delicate finger. 

“Go on, then.”

“My lord?”

“I give you permission to taste me. You’ve earned that much, at least.” 

The demon purrs his thanks as he leans forward, bringing the bloody digit to his mouth. His wicked tongue curls and licks up the trickle of blood, and when Ciel’s finger is clean, he brings it fully into his mouth, sucking softly, drawing more of the earl’s essence out and onto his tongue. The inside of Sebastian’s mouth is warm and wet, almost burning where he prods at the slit on Ciel’s finger, caressing the torn skin with a hungry interest. 

Heat rushes to Ciel’s face, in his cheeks and neck, and down between his legs, with Sebastian’s hand around his wrist, as he watches the demon slide his finger suggestively in and out of his hellish mouth, rubbing the pad of his little fingertip on the surface of his tongue. Even in that ridiculous nightgown and matching bonnet, Ciel is struck with how handsome his butler is. Those unholy eyes smoldering as they watch him make Ciel forget all about the lace and bows adorning his servant’s frame. 

“Have you had your fill yet?” The earl asks haughtily after a moment, secretly hoping that the answer is no. 

Sebastian curls his tongue around Ciel’s finger and takes a final lap at the red gash in his mouth. “Not nearly enough,” he answers, releasing the boy’s hand. “If anything, tasting the young master’s soul through his blood has only worked to increase my hunger… Though it is worth noting that my own wound has begun to feel better, thanks to your gift.” It is not a complete lie. The overwhelming flavor of this soul has given Sebastian a delicious distraction from his discomfort, though the hole in his chest still remains. 

“As I said, it is the least I can do,” Ciel explains as he swings a leg over Sebastian to sit atop his midriff. “I cannot have the Phantomhive butler lying in such a state for very long. I would be prudent of me to help speed your recovery in whatever way I can. Now,” he commands, “take this ridiculous thing off. I don’t believe I can bring myself to kiss you when you are wearing something so absurd.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Ciel can taste himself, the metallic tinge of his blood still on Sebastian’s tongue when he leans down to kiss him. What he wouldn’t give to know what he tastes like to Sebastian…. 

The servant dutifully undresses his master and removes his own nightgown, leaving the two of them naked on his little cot. Ciel witnessed Undertaker’s scythe go clean through Sebastian, back to front, but all he sees now is a thin, ragged line, like a surgical scar, except it is an inky black, darker than anything he has ever seen before. Sebastian lays the young master on his back, his noble head resting on the single pillow he has been issued, and descends beneath the sheets to take him in his mouth. Clinging fingers tangle in his hair, etiolated thighs squeeze around his head with strength that never ceases to surprise him, and the young master tugs desperately on the sheet, trying to pull it away so he can watch his demon consume him even more. Sebastian holds tight to the blanket with one hand; the young boy has spent all day laughing at his appearance, but no more. 

“Sebastian,” he can hear his charge gasping for him, “let me watch,” he moans, “I want to see you.” And then he adds, in a breathy voice strung tight with pleasure, “It’s an order.” 

Ciel is able to watch as Sebastian licks him, kisses the head of his cock, swallows him down expertly, nuzzling the space where dusty black hairs would one day grow beneath his navel, should the cursed child manage to live that long. 

With fingers slick from his own enchanted saliva, Sebastian pushes one inside the earl’s tight hole, rubbing around inside, making the legs around his head quiver uncontrollably. Something wet touches his face, and Sebastian can smell it; the cut on the boy’s finger has begun to bleed again as his heartbeat pounds in his chest, every vein in his body thrumming with life, with desire. 

Ciel keens his servant’s name as he finishes in his mouth, a pleasurable tremor wracking his small frame. Sebastian swallows around him, drinking down the mouthful of his young master’s aureate essence. He withdraws his fingers, strokes a sensitive thigh with his clean hand. 

“You are too kind, young master, giving your servant such a thoughtful gift,” he coos. “It is greatly appreciated. Shall I dress you and return you to your room now?” 

“Surely that was not enough to sate your hunger,” Ciel scoffs weakly. 

“I would not want my avarice to get the best of me,” Sebastian answers. “Nor would I want to take advantage of my young master’s kindness.”

“Tch. You have never let that stop you before.” 

Sebastian slides his hand further up Ciel’s thigh, caressing the curve of his flesh, teasing the warm wetness between his legs. 

“Would you like me to continue, my lord? Would you like me to taste you more, trace your outline with my tongue, put it inside you and make you convulse with pleasure? Would you like to finish on my face, mark me as yours as I have done to you?” 

Even as he chides his servant, “You are disgusting, you know that? A lowly and depraved animal…” Ciel’s body reacts honestly to Sebastian’s seductive voice. He cannot hide from the demon, who can feel the blood rushing through his fragile, mortal veins, feel his heart race in his chest, sense the stirring between his legs as his cock begins to stiffen once again. 

“Yes, but I am _your_ animal; I am your loyal dog. I will protect you and accompany you for the remainder of our days. There is no place I’d rather be.” The wheedling tone is unnecessary; after three years, the damned couple is completely in sync. Whatever it was Ciel wanted, Sebastian wanted to give it to him. 

“Woof.” 

Ciel is suddenly upended, Sebastian’s hands around his waist, pulling him up and hooking his legs over his shoulders so he can invade the warm interior of the earl’s body with his tongue, where he could taste the pure, undiluted flavor of the boy’s depravity and despair. What a dirty boy he has corrupted, Sebastian muses. Ciel gargles unintelligible shouts of pleasure as his blushing cock weeps onto his stomach. Sebastian does not let him climax this way, though he wraps one hand around Ciel’s erection and touches him as if he wants him to. Each time he feels the boy drawing near, the heat on the back of his hand growing warmer with each stroke, Sebastian releases him, turns his mouth away to bite the inside of Ciel’s thighs. He does not draw blood, though he would desperately like to. 

“Sebastian.” 

“Young master?” 

“How do I taste?” Two mismatched eyes look up at Sebastian, the eyepatch long since discarded. Ciel wonders how long Sebastian will continue with this, how long he will deprive himself, the both of them, of what they want. 

Sebastian lowers Ciel’s back to the bed as he answers, “Absolutely divine. Delicious.” He spreads his legs, puts several fingers back inside him as he tells him he is the most scrumptious thing he’s ever tasted, the most tempting treat he has ever laid eyes on. All of his misery and his guile, his desire and his rage is like fire on Sebastian’s tongue, the hot curry that burns the roof of your mouth but keeps you coming back for more every time. 

“You taste that,” Ciel scowls, “down there?” 

“And more.” 

Sebastian is quick, and he presses his lips to Ciel’s before the noble can protest it. As the demon pulls away, nudges Ciel’s thighs further apart with his own, prepares himself to take him, Ciel is disappointed that he does not taste everything Sebastian described; only the pallid, gamy taste of his own flesh. 

The disappointment is short-lived. Sebastian enters him, is inside him, and Ciel can’t think about anything outside of the two of them; nothing beyond the feeling of his hot skin on Sebastian’s, smooth and cold as marble; nothing beyond the sound of Sebastian’s breathing, his own loud pants and whimpers as his demon strikes him just so. Beckoning Sebastian closer, Ciel wraps his arms around his neck, buries his face in the hollow between shoulder and throat, opens his mouth, and bites down. Hard. He wants to draw blood, wants to taste Sebastian, and he worries his teeth into the conjured layer of skin as the devil chuckles, “Oh, young master.” 

Ciel bites, and Sebastian bites back, ripping Ciel’s head to the side to expose his exquisite throat. How he would love to snap his jaws down on his windpipe like the animal Ciel thinks he is, but he knows he is not allowed to leave marks above the collar. Instead, he trades places with Ciel, leaning against the metal rails at the head of his bed. He turns the boy in his lap so he faces away from him, and as he guides his cock back in, much easier this time, he bares his fangs and buries them in Ciel’s shoulder. 

Sebastian’s senses are more acute, receptive to far more than human senses, and the sound of Ciel’s pained yelp is like music to him. He loves to see him in pain as much as he loves to see him lost in pleasure, and when he can bring the haughty earl to climax with both simultaneously, Sebastian is more than satisfied. Except, Ciel does not come right away. Blood dribbles down his back, and Sebastian laps at it with his tongue, and Ciel is still whimpering, “More… Keep going.” There are rusty red fingerprints everywhere, Ciel’s fists clinging to the sheets, to Sebastian’s legs, anything he can find purchase on as Sebastian bucks his hips in a calculated manner, hitting him inside in all the right spots, rubbing him raw with a pleasant friction. 

Sebastian is above him when Ciel finally comes, his ankles crossed and locked behind Sebastian’s back, a fire consuming the air in his lungs as Sebastian refuses to break away, refuses to release his lips and let him breathe. Despite his taunts, Sebastian does not let Ciel paint his face with white; the noble heir coughs, wheezes, moans into the devil’s mouth as he comes in Sebastian’s hand. 

“It’s my turn,” he gasps as air rushes into his lungs in heaving gasps. 

“Your turn for what, my lord?” 

“Let me taste you.” 

Sebastian scoots back, stops hovering over his young master and sits back on his heels. 

“Will you assist me?” He asks. 

“No,” his master answers. “I want to watch.” 

Sebastian smiles, chuckles, as he licks his palm and takes his swollen cock in hand, “As you wish.” 

Ciel is surprised how long it takes for Sebastian to finish. Through gritted teeth, Sebastian explains that the state he is in makes it hard to climax, but perhaps if he had some assistance from the young master…

“I said no,” Ciel rebukes. 

“You would not even touch yourself for me, your humble servant?” 

Ciel shakes his head resolutely. With a sigh, Sebastian licks his palm again, lubricating himself with his saliva as he pumps his hand almost frantically, now desperate for release. 

“Will you touch me, young master? Just to feel your hands on me, it would go a long way…” 

Ciel deigns to put his hands on Sebastian, gingerly running his fingers along his smooth, hairless thighs, letting Sebastian lace the fingers of his marked hand with his own dainty fingers.

“Young master,” Sebastian grunts, “would you like to open your mouth for me? So as not to create any waste… I am close.” 

Ciel does as Sebastian suggested, leaning forward, pink mouth agape, his tongue hanging out only a bit, ready to lap at any stray drops. There are none, of course; Sebastian adjusts himself just so, and with a final heavy stroke, fills Ciel’s mouth with opaque white streams of semen. For a moment, Ciel gags on the warm mass, but swallows valiantly and smiles coyly at Sebastian. 

“Good dog.” 

As Sebastian cleans the dried blood from his master’s body and redresses him neatly in his clothes from earlier, he cannot help but ask him how he tastes. Ciel shrugs. “I don’t know. That is to say, it’s not bad… You taste like you,” is all he says.

“That is fair enough,” Sebastian replies, rising to his feet once he finishes buckling Ciel’s shoes. He is still naked, and the two of them look down at the ugly mark on his chest. Ciel asks if it will leave a scar, and Sebastian says no. 

“This, though,” he points at the angry cinnamon-colored welts blooming on his neck, two crescents of neatly aligned teeth, “I would not mind scarring. Alas, such displays are unbecoming of a butler of my status. I will make sure they are not visible when I return to work tomorrow.”

“Right,” Ciel replies, noncommittally. Sometimes he wishes he could show the whole world that this demon is his. He wants everyone to know that he is the one the devil has chosen, he is the one who commands this ungodly power, he is the one that brings this demonic behemoth to his knees, he is the only one that this creature wants to consume. And yet… “Be sure that you do.” He cannot.


End file.
